


Thanatos / Eros

by Berryberrynoizy



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Choking, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Porn with Feelings, it was supposed to be a smut but princess oswald needs a storyline to be bedded, victorian education, yes there are sex scenes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-05
Updated: 2018-06-05
Packaged: 2019-05-18 14:14:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14854304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Berryberrynoizy/pseuds/Berryberrynoizy
Summary: Edward cannot resist. After all, he does love a neck and Oswald's neck, with his milky white skin, is too tempting.[Fic finished.]





	1. Thanatos

**Author's Note:**

> I need to thanks Heyesc and Amethystawakening for their precious help. It is the first time I write a story in English. In the past, I wrote in French then I had a team to help me to translate. I did not write anything in years, so if you notice any mistake, please tell me. I'll edit it.

If Olga were to enter the living room, Edward, no matter his wits, would be unable to explain what he is doing.

Hell, even the truth would not escape his lips. His brain probably knows, but it refuses to let his owner grasp that information. Perhaps Riddler knew, yet for once that projection is silent and nowhere to be seen.

 

***

  
Oswald and Martin were peacefully asleep when Edward entered the room. No one replied when he called their names, trying to determine their position. A soft sound, light snoring, barely audible over the cracking of the fire, regular as a heartbeat, could be noticed if one paid attention.

Edward was paying attention. And he was smiling.  
  
Both of his friends, if he could use that name, were asleep on the floor. From the papers scattered around and the book slowly slipping from Oswald's hands laid down on the child's back, Ed gathered enough evidence to understand what happened here.

Martin's mind has been racing, or so it seemed. So many question marks punctuated the sheets laying on the floor. A smile lit up Ed's face. Curiosity is a good thing. It brings out a scientific mind and what could he welcome better?

Edward frowned, revealing his concern as he looked down. His feathered friend's sleep was usually very light, which could prove useful when one never knew if an enemy was about to strike in the middle of the night. However, from that knowledge, it was surprising the man did not wake up as the book left his fingers, or as soon as Edward came home.

Home?  
  
''Yes, home,'' Ed silently concluded. Finally home.  
  
A sigh escaped his lips before they stretched again with a soft smile.

Ed was in awe of Oswald like he always was. No matter which side of himself he showed the world, Oswald went for it, not holding back. If he wanted something, he made sure he got it. How many times did he reach the position of the king of Gotham when all bets were against him?

Was Oswald reckless or bold? Both of them were fine as they made Ed proud of his friend. Edward always enjoyed a secondhand vertigo of strength and power when Oswald acted on his violent impulses.

''To the bed, you go'', he whispered, bending his knees. He carefully removed Oswald's hand from its place, sliding it slowly across Martin's back before being cushioned by the carpet. Oswald finally made a light grumbling noise.

He is not dead. Good.

Martin's sleep remained undisturbed as Edward carried him in his arms and brought him to his bed in the room across Oswald's. He removed the bow tie and notepad from his neck, then he tucked him in, still in the clothes he spent the day wearing.

A small hand grabbed his fingers as he was about to leave the room. Surprised, he turned around to gaze at Martin, and his still closed eyes. His hand let go of Edward's.

Edward was definitely smiling a lot tonight.

Real smiles. Not those theatrical, exaggerated ones. Those he had when he believed he could finally be happy, with miss Kringle, with Isabella, with Oswald.

Life did not like him. Even as a child, his own parents rejected him. Happiness was something he saw others have, not something someone like him could have. His first chance of happiness, Edward killed her with his bare hands.

His second chance, after Oswald broke him loose from Arhkam, he also messed it up. Crouching down, he pats the curly hair lovingly. ''Sleep tight, little one.''  
  
In the darkness, Ed was able to discern a quick smile before closing the door behind him. No, happiness is not something he deserves, he concluded as he entered the living room.  
  
Oswald had not moved an inch. His head was more inclined to the left than before, maybe. Yes, it was, since he could no longer see that mole on his neck while he was standing on the same spot he did earlier.

Not that it mattered.

Ed wondered if he should wake him up. To tell the truth, he was starting to be concerned. However, a visual inspection proved Oswald was breathing. A slow, regular inhale and exhale, without a sound to be heard.

Oswald seemed to be at peace, something he was hardly ever. Should he wake him up? The bed was going to be better for his back and his leg. Indecisive, he sat next to his side, loosening his tie and dropping his jacket on the couch.

The reality was almost unsettling for him. For months, he lived in chaotic, messy world with no direction to follow. Pure hate and anger fuelled him, pushed him to go on and look for vengeance. Then, despair took over. Bringing his long fingers to his neck, Ed can remember the weight of the rope around his neck, almost feeling the rough material under the tips.

But now, this was a past life.  
  
He was home with Oswald and Martin.

Edward's face turned to watch Oswald sleeping. His pink lips were slightly parted, pushing the air away. His makeup was wearing off. His eyeliner was not as sharp as it was earlier that day and some of the freckles were back.

If one's appearance should be a weapon you should keep sharp, well, Oswald was a fool to not notice its blunt force of attraction on Ed. Whenever the freckles were not covered up with foundation, he couldn't help but look at him, trying to count them all, noticing the constellation-like patterns.

He could not stop his hand from pushing away a strand of hair covering the last star, brushing against the milky white skin unintentionally.

''Oh. That is bad,'' he thought.

Oswald always let him touch his hair, his clothes, his hands. It was the first time he reached his face, save for taking care of him, years ago when he rescued him from the woods. Back then, Oswald's presence was enough to satisfy Edward, but now it barely gave him enough.

He wanted more. He needed more.

Feeling that skin, sharing the same breath, having Oswald's taste on his tongue, erasing all from his mind but him.

However, he had no right to crave for this. His anger and his denial of Oswald's love had pushed him too far to be forgiven, no matter if Oswald trusted him... or still loved him. Ed would not allow himself to take what he had rejected so aggressively.

His eyes wandered down to Oswald's shoulder, mentally drawing the shape of the scar that brought them together, got them closer. He did not even notice when his thumb traced it over the dark worsted jacket while he remembered every aspect of the care of the wound. His memories of that time were quite clinical, unlike now.

Edward's stomach twisted as he lowered his gaze toward the other wound, the one he was responsible for. Gritting his teeth to ignore his urges, he wanted to scratch it away, to erase his past actions. He could not do anything about it now. That truth was painful.

At least, Oswald was still alive, a few inches away, his sleep undisturbed. Edward noticed the movement of his Adam's apple as he swallowed in his sleep.  
  
''You should not do this, Ed. You should not,'' Ed whispered, the emphasis put on each word. Yet, a few seconds later, he found himself straddling Oswald, untying the silken purple tie to get better access to his neck.

He took a deep breath. He felt like a diver about to plunge off a cliff, unable to fight the siren's call.

Oh, dear.

Oswald's collar spreads more widely, released from the tight hug of his tie. Edward was biting his bottom lip as he felt a warmth embracing his lower belly. What was he even doing? He could raise up, move away and pretend this never happened.

"No one would know," he thought, in spite of his hands reaching the so enticing neck. In his surrounding grip, it seemed so small. After all, it made sense: Oswald was small.

His mind fully occupied to record every sensation as he pressed his fingers slowly on different places, moving them to different spots, Ed did not notice right away that Oswald's blue-green eyes were no longer closed. They were open wide in surprise, barely blinking, making their way into his very soul as the small man blushed hard. Captivating.

He understood the silent words as Oswald made no sounds under him, frowning slightly for a split second.

Then, the raven-haired man closed his eyes slowly again. A final message.

His hands tighten their grip around the pale, slender neck. The skin is surprisingly soft Definitely softer than miss Kringle. Her tender flesh was used to be sucked, bitten, scratched. Isabella’s seemed softer, but Oswald was something else completely.

He couldn’t help but wonder about his own neck, which never received any interest. For one second only, because Ed is hypnotized by the man under him, submitting to him and his hands without complaints, even when the grip tightens again. Ed feels Oswald’s swallowing, harder and harder as he runs out of air in his lungs. His white freckled skin is turning to a purple-pink shade.

Painful sparks replaced the strangely enjoyable feeling of Ed's hands as Oswald feels more light- headed every passing second. His breathing becomes hard and rough as he can no longer keep his mouth closed. His body betrays him, trying to suck in the ever-needed oxygen. Even if his eyes are closed, he feels the dark spots take over is vision field. He is going to pass out soon. Very soon.

And he is going to die as soon as he passes out. He knows. He accepts it. He embraces it.  
  
Oswald lived with violence. His fate was to die at the hands of an enemy one day. Why not those of Riddler, these beautiful hands blessed with long, pianist fingers? Ah, if he had to get one last wish, he’d wish for them to by caressing the piano, prompting a melancholic melody that both of them loved. Music helped them to bond, after all. And Oswald grew to enjoy these short peaceful moments.

Sometimes, he could forget about everything else. There was nothing more than Edward Nygma in his life. Ed, his long slender fingers, and their songs shared like a secret.

Oswald thinks he can hear their melody as his conscience is fading away.


	2. Eros

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Let's be real: you just want to know if the smut is there. It is. Oswald's first time and porn with feelings.

A cough can be heard.

It suddenly brings Edward back to reality; he loosens his grip, swiftly freeing Oswald. ''Oswald, I... Oswald, I'm so sorry, I'm sorry,'' Edward says, looking for the still-elusive explanation.

Oswald raises up on his elbows and takes quick, deep breaths. He turns his face toward his left shoulder to cough again. Then, he closes his eyes, inhaling all the while, he begins to recover.

When he opens his eyes again, he sees Edward, still straddling him, gasping and shaking. Ed's dark eyes had become glossy, staring intensely at his hands without seeing them. Edward's eyelids flash open, closed, open, closed, following the same rhythm as his frantically moving chest.

Just by looking at him, Oswald can almost feel Ed's heart pump stronger and stronger, getting faster every passing second. He recognizes the damn curse's symptoms.

A panic attack.

Worry laced in his voice, Oswald calls Ed's name over and over. He has to free himself. He must help Ed. He must do something. Anything.

Oswald turns around vigorously, unable to free himself from Ed. It's like Ed gained a ton since earlier. Dead weight always seems incredibly heavy. Nonetheless, Oswald keeps trying until a sharp shock of pain makes him stop.

His bad leg.  
  
His damn right leg dictates him to stop. He nearly screams the frustrated sigh he releases. Right now, Ed is not able to cope with what is happening alone.  
  
Something else; he must try something else. At a loss, Oswald tries whatever comes to his mind. ''Ed, look at me. Ed. Edward.''

Oswald is going to call him. Or at least try it.

''Riddler,'' Oswald starts, trying to command his wavering voice and to catch Ed's hand at the same time. Edward doesn't react, still stuck in a dark, terrible place. ''Please, Riddler. Ed needs you.''

The time slows down. Each second takes hours as Ed gasps, losing control of both his mind and body entirely.

Hyperventilation.  
  
Then, suddenly, everything stops.

The crackling fire and Oswald's panicked breath break the strange, new-found silence. Ed still has his eyes closed, chest moving slowly and deeply, as his lips pressed together.

When dark eyes meet green ones, Oswald knows he's arrived. A proud smile curves Ed's lips as one of his hands carefully pulls Oswald's closer against his skin.

''Fashionably late, that's how we make our grandiose entrance,'' Riddler states, voice exuding amusement. ''But I was about to come out, even without you calling me. This little boy cannot deal with his life without me.''

As an impish sparkle shines in his brown eyes, he whispers, cocking his head: "Did you miss me already?''

Sure, Riddler has to tease like that.  
  
The truth is he did miss him, but that is beside the point.

Ignoring the question, Oswald frowns and looks away. He finds his hands can not leave Ed’s; the Riddler squeezing too hard even as Oswald tries to pull them back.

A way to show who is in charge.  
  
''What was this all about?'' Oswald asks, looking up at him.

If Ed wanted to kill him, he had a right to do so. Oswald let him choke his airways, after all. Yet why did he stop and get in that state over this?

''As usual, Eddie is unable to do anything right without me. Fortunately, I can't wait to finish the job. I'm sorry he'll miss the fun.''

Ed wanted to kill him, then. Good.

At least, Oswald knows the truth about Edward's feelings about him now. Still, it hurts. Oswald's heart is breaking in pieces, melting in tears threatening to run down on his cheeks. But he cannot do that in front of the Riddler.

He will not let him enjoy this new victory.  
  
''You are the same person, both of you, is that right? '' ''Yes. We are the same person.''  
  
That's all he needs to know. Ed could hesitate, take one step forward, and two back, but he already knew what he wanted. Like everyone. Every choice you make is made before you gather a reason and people are creative enough to entertain any alternatives with seemingly reasonable justification.

When Edward accessed this part of himself, nothing hindered his impulses and wants. So, no doubt stops him this time.

Oswald’s back hit the floor once more.  
  
Swiftly, Riddler grabs Oswald’s wrists and pushes them to the floor, either side of his head,

elbows out. A self-satisfied grin appears on Riddler’s face as Oswald’s eyes widen, more due to surprise than shock.

“Since we’re the same, I know everything he thinks.”

Riddler snickers and he adds, leaning down closer, too close, voice deepening, “and even what he denies himself.”

His breath caresses Oswald’s neck, stirring him faintly. Riddler, clearly proud, does not miss the sound the man under him lets out involuntarily. He barely contains a pleased chuckle.

''Do you wanna know?'', Riddler whispers before licking the trembling skin slowly, probably aware of the pulsating carotid's mad beats under his tongue. Oswald cannot push him away. He deserves everything Ed had in store for him.

Riddler's confidence is like a cat's toying with a prey unable to run anymore. Like a cat's playing with a wounded bird.

A spark of pain makes Oswald flinch. The teeth of the predator playfully biting his prey, getting a taste of what is to come. A grinning voice in his ear, enticing: ''Oh, don't be shy. I know you do. Just say pretty please.''

Riddler's words ring in Oswald's ears. He purses his lips in a fake display of offense, refusing to acknowledge the embarrassment burning on his face.

Ed almost killed him less than ten minutes earlier. How in the world could his heart be running like crazy now? Was it because of the way Riddler's teeth scraped his sensitive skin? Was it because of the irregular breath tickling his neck?

Riddler alternates slow, messy kisses and bites on his still painful, bruised neck. A phantom sensation lingers around it, as if the long fingers were still digging in, choking him. However, Oswald knows his breathing is labored for a different reason now.

And that leaves him confused and ashamed.  
  
How in the world could he feel aroused now, of all times?  
  
''Don't you wanna know, hm? What he thinks of you when he's all alone in his room at night?"

Even without seeing Riddler's face, Oswald hears his huge, self-satisfied smile. He needs to take back control of the situation.

And hopefully of his body's reactions, too.  
  
''Move, Ed,'' Oswald pleads more than he orders. His voice is shaking and high-pitched. So much for taking control.  
  
''Do you really want that? I don't believe it,'' Riddler replies, tilting his head to the side. He slowly moves on Oswald's hips along his... length, and once again his lips stretch. Oswald's undignified squawk paints a grim smile on Riddler's face.

So, Riddler noticed. Sure, he had to, since he had straddled Oswald for a while, before his arousal became evident. The change of... body shape was probably hard to miss.

And the friction is intolerable.

The current situation leads Oswald to believe his life is not in danger anymore, prompting him to react. Even if he is barely able to voice anything intelligible, he has to try at least. A cornered beast always shows its fangs.

''I do. That's enough, Ed. Move.''  
  
''Roger that. I'll move.''  
  
Riddler proves true to his words.

However, he doesn't move away: back and forth, slow moves start again, giving Oswald the friction he craves for. He is incapable of restraining his moans, despite his vain attempt to squash them.

Even if his body knew what it wanted for the first time, the little downward turn of his lips betrayed how conflicted he was. It was scary. Sex was a whole world he never explored.

His mother warned him to avoid baser passions. People used sex and intimacies to manipulate each other. Oswald has seen it enough to know that much is true. But she did not mention how exposed and vulnerable you felt.

A mix of shame and lot of work usually helped Oswald to ignore his sinful needs.  
  
Riddler was barely grinding his ass against his covered manhood, and he was already on edge.

Having someone else teasing him like this was pure torture. A sweet, delightful torture for which he is totally unprepared for. It's only when Oswald's glaring up at the Riddler when he notices Oswald's eyes are watering.

''Oh,'' Riddler's voice drops. ''You were serious.''

Worry written all over his frozen face, Riddler lets go of Oswald's wrists. Their freedom regained, Oswald buries his face in his hands to dry his tears forcibly and to hide his shame, while Riddler analyzes his next move.

Riddler pushes the hands away softly, carefully, locking his eyes with Oswald.

''Oswald, listen,'' Riddler begins before being interrupted by an outraged scream. ''Does Ed really dream to see me humiliated like that?''

Riddler looks wholly puzzled by the question. ''Humiliated?''  
  
Oswald nods, trying to fight back the tears, lips forced together. ''What's humiliating?''  
  
Oswald's expression changes to a mix of disbelief and shock. His mouth shifts into a ''o'' shape.

So, Riddler wants to play dumb after all this? Unbelievable. It's almost a relief to feel anger taking over, drying his eyes for good. ''Enough. Move away, Ed. Now,'' Oswald orders, a threat hardly hidden in his voice.

''Not before you tell me what you think is humiliating in what we were doing.''  
  
His tone is so casual. Just like it was back then, in the morning when they were talking about

which cravat Oswald should wear for the day.

Oswald huffs and attempts to push Riddler away, without any success. He lets out a frustrated grunt as his face displays how the whole situation annoys him. Riddler's hands cup his face before Oswald chases them away, disgusted.

Without skipping a beat, Riddler remarks: ''I am waiting for an explanation.''

Oswald's eyes widen, and he purses his lips again. ''An explanation for what, exactly, Ed? How did you expect me to react?''. A nervous, exaggerated laugh breaks his speech. His mouth opens and closes, words stuck in his throat.

They find their way, somehow, as he continues: ''You were trying to make me lose control of myself, make me do shameful acts, make --''

''I never intended to _humiliate_ you, Oswald.''

''What were you trying to do, then?'' Oswald screams, anger taking over. ''Let me go, Ed, or I'll shoot you, and I can tell you I don't miss''.

Riddler's enormous ego must be hurt now. Oswald knows better how to fight violence than whatever... that is.

Damaging Riddler's pride to get his way out.

However, Oswald is taken aback by Riddler's unexpected self-control. ''You're not going anywhere before you answer me, Oswald.'' He considers Oswald's face, maybe seeking the faintest clue of deceit there. ''Oswald, what I meant, is...'' Riddler stops himself, thinking aloud. ''Maybe I should show you.''

''Or maybe you could tell me, friend,'' Oswald hisses, before offering a polite, visibly fake smile. His green eyes are sharper than a chef set of knives.

''What do you consider humiliating in sex, Oswald?'' Riddler tries again. Oswald lets out a small shocked gasp.  
  
Everything. Everything in it is shameful and humiliating. The moans, the lewd movements, the loss of control, the disgusting bodily fluids coming out...

Riddler waits for a reply. None come.  
  
He sighs, seemingly overwhelmed by the turn of events. He removes his glasses to pinch the bridge of his nose, brows raised.

There was no doubt that Oswald loves him, trusts him over anyone else. If Oswald is willing to be choked without fighting earlier, maybe he'd let him try... other things, too.

The glasses back in their position, he declares: ''You know we'd do anything for you, Oswald. Anything. I am not going to give you a sex education course, Oswald, but what I am about to do with you is not humiliating.''

Riddler's tongue finds its way back to Oswald's neck, tracing a path from the collarbones to the ears, nipping, sucking it. ''Allow me to show you, Oswald. Don't think I'm trying to make fun of you about this.''

Changing tactics, he kneels over. Maybe giving Oswald more space could help him to calm down. Oswald bends his knees, grimacing at the unpleasant satisfaction of being able to move numb legs. His back pleads him to move. Even with a carpet on the floor, it is never the best place to lay down.

However, Oswald stays still, studying Riddler's poker face.

Why is he hesitating at all? Putting an end to whatever is happening appears to be the best course of action, but Riddler asked him for permission.

Should he allow it? But...

''Let's play a game, together, Oswald. You will enjoy it. Pinky promise.'' Riddler narrows his eyes as his smug smile takes its place back on his face. ''You tell me what you want. I tell you what I want. I want you to touch me, Oswald. Anywhere, just touch me.''

Oswald swallows hard. Who knows what Riddler would ask next? Should he play along?

To hell.

An uncertain hand lands on Riddler's thigh. Oswald blinks twice, observing its movement as if it had acted on its own. Riddler puts his hand on top of Oswald's, pushing it slowly up and down. A silent way to invite Oswald to caress him.

Like a moth flying around a flame, Oswald is drawn to that so damn arousing hint of danger into Riddler's eyes. His doubts washed away, he complies.

''Good. My turn. I want to touch your cheek again.'' A nod provides Ed with permission.  
  
It feels so... intimate. For hands that wanted to kill him so many times already, their touch is now light, delicate.

Loving? Almost.

No one but his parents touched him with love. Love that made him feel accepted no matter what. Memories that made him stronger. Stronger and better than Sofia, at least.

That time, instinctively, Oswald recognizes that sign of affection is not the same at all. Another kind of love. The one he craved, maybe.  
The one he still craves. ''Your turn.''  
  
''Can you...'', Oswald hesitates. A long finger land on his lips, interrupting him. ''No, the rule is simple. You start what you have to say with 'I want.'''  
  
Asking permission and risking being denied is embarrassing and painful, but stating flatly what he wants is even worse. Once again, Oswald's face turns pink. The only thing Oswald can think about is that finger still lingering on his lips.

So close and warm.  
  
''I want to kiss your fingers.''

A nod, and Oswald catches Riddler's hand with both of his, surrounding it like something precious and fragile.

Ed's hand.  
  
Ed's beautiful hand.

Oswald takes his time, feeling each of the fingers with his lips before he tenderly kisses two. Returning a second time, kissing each of them individually.

When Oswald reluctantly let go, Riddler allowing him as much time as Oswald needed, another hand finds Oswald's lips.

''I want to touch your lips again.''

Riddler doesn't have to ask twice. He moves his other hand to Oswald's mouth, allowing Oswald to repeat the kisses with the same care, the same devotion.

The same love.  
  
Ed's charming hands.

The precious hands that cured him back to health, that clothed him, that took care of him. The damned hands that choked him, that tied him up, that shot him.

Oswald has accepted it all.

After all, they are both humans and monsters. Their feelings of happiness are so short-lived, being crushed violently as soon as they arise.

Happiness is not something they deserve.

His mother is dead because he failed to protect her, to play his part in the fantasy world she was living in until the end. Her way to cope with the harsh, cruel word. Oswald favored being painfully aware of the reality he was living in.

And the reality, for once, was a bliss. ''I... I want to touch your neck.''  
  
Riddler bends down, his ever-present smile stretching, but Oswald can swear there is something softer than usual in Ed's face. The sudden proximity...

Trying to calm down his heart, Oswald bites his bottom lip and takes a deep breath. That warmth on his face, again.  
  
Managing his emotions is not his forte.

In the warm light of the crackling fireplace, Riddler raises his chin, presenting his neck to Oswald. A spicy, comforting scent takes slowly over, and replaces the dusty, burning cedar smell in the room.

That's... soothing.

Ed's cologne differs slightly from his memories, probably because he smells it on Ed's skin, chemistry operating the transformation it could not when the scent was applied on his clothes.

However, a cologne does not retain its perfume for so long usually. Ed must have applied it during the morning, so how?

Oswald's skin turns pink again as Riddler let out a small chuckle. Petroleum jelly.  
  
Ed probably puts petroleum jelly behind his ear or at the bottom of his throat before applying cologne to keep the smell for longer. In any other situation, Oswald would have been happy his suggestions were heeded, but another use of the product presents himself on his mind. Blushing, Oswald is appalled by the direction his thoughts have taken.

''My turn. I want to kiss you.''  
  
A small, bashful nod welcomes him as Oswald's eyes slide shut. Oswald is going to die tonight.  
  
Either by Riddler's hands or by the betrayal of his own heart.

Hand and opposite arm on the floor to steady himself, Riddler accepts the invitation. He leans in a slow pace, kissing him so ever lightly at first, gradually pushing his lips closer.

Not repelled by this act, Oswald thrusts his tongue against the seam of Riddler's mouth tentatively. Oswald's arms are closing around Riddler before stopping mid-air.

The rules.  
  
''I want to hold you.''

Wanting isn't much the word. Oswald needs to hold him so much it hurts. He needs to close the distance between them, finally taking a step over the line that has been drawn between them since the moment Oswald first said: "I love you."

Riddler nods and holds him back the best he can in their position as Oswald's arms pull him close. Oswald silently prays for his heart not to betray him, to keep beating for a little while.

Somehow, tears flood the green eyes again. For the first time, he understands the meaning of dying from happiness. It is all he can feel and think about, in that embrace he thought impossible until now.

''I want to touch... that scar.''

Rather than nodding - the nod was not a rule, after all - Oswald guides Riddler's hand over the healed wound, buried under layers of clothes. Riddler raises himself on one arm to study Oswald's face, asking for permission silently as much as assessing if he is pushing his luck too much as a hand hovers over the closest waistcoat button.

It was not his turn to ask something more, so Riddler respects his rules. Oswald figures he wants to touch the scar directly, skin to skin. An uncomfortable feeling creeps in. Yet, he finds the strength to accept with a nod.

They look at each other as Riddler's hand explores Oswald's body, discovering the painful memory's location quickly. His touch is gentle, careful as if he is scared to hurt Oswald while he traces the outlines of the different skin's textures.

Their gazes lock together.

Oswald understands Ed. No matter what, Oswald grasps Ed's thoughts better than Ed does himself: no, the wound doesn't hurt anymore. At least, not on the physical side. However, there is something else now, more relevant to their current situation.

Oswald has come this far already. That's too late to go back now, isn't it? Can things go back to what they were before tonight anyways?

His heart beating so fast, Oswald lets go nonetheless. ''I want to... erase my fear with your help.''  
  
Riddler nods, accepting such an unclear request. Soon, he is unbuttoning the waistcoat. The shirt opens to reveal a light, creamy skin devoid of concealer and foundation, full of freckles, going down from his neck to his belt.

Riddler kisses them all, one after the other, marking their position in his mind. Oswald's star map.  
  
Fingers trace over the freckles after Riddler's lips leave them, sometimes tickling Oswald's tired muscles through his skin, Oswald chuckling and squirming to run away from the sensation, quickly coming back to feel that smile on his chest.

When Oswald tenses up at his belt being unbuckled, Riddler's hands and lips find their way back to the bruised neck, still kissing along the main stars. ''I want to hear when you like what I am doing to you, since it tells me what you enjoy and what you don't, Oswald.''

Oswald cannot find the strength to accept or refuse Riddler's demand. His face is burning so, so much. He hears himself replying softly instead: ''I want to move to my bedroom with you. I may want to look for more comfortable rugs in the future.''

Riddler promptly gets up, and Oswald gladly accepts his help to raise up.

On the way to his bedroom, every small detail Oswald would ordinarily not even think about obsesses him. His own mind plays the bully: would Riddler realize his limp make his way of walking unsightly? Or maybe he would have the time to see he was not good-looking enough for Ed. He was nothing much, not worth a second glance when his carefully chosen bespoke clothes were out of the picture.

And his freckles? They were probably back, giving off that childish vibe he hated. What about his sickly white skin that became red whenever a ray of sun touched him? Granted, the sun never shines on Gotham...

Then, the wooden door clicks and the darkness envelops them.

To Oswald's surprise, Riddler pushes him against the wall, unaware of Oswald's insecurity, resuming his hungry kisses. Between a few of them, their game incites Riddler to say, voice deep: ''I want to remove your clothes.''

Upon Oswald's humming of hesitation, Riddler takes a step back and removes his own tie and shirt, confidence oozing from his smile and narrowed eyes as Oswald's were getting used to the darkness.

As much a way to make Oswald feel at ease as a challenge.

The expectant gaze Riddler pressures Oswald into removing his opened shirt and waistcoat. But that's fine. It's Ed. Right?

It's Ed.

It's Ed, licking his bottom lip, waiting for him to be ready, wanting him so badly that even someone as inexperienced as Oswald can read it on his face when only a dim moonlight filters in between the curtains.

As an answer, Oswald grabs Riddler's neck and kisses him desperately. Riddler's body pushes him against the wall again.

Nowhere to run.  
  
But Oswald doesn't want to run anymore.

Oswald lets his waistcoat fall to the ground, soon followed by his shirt. Fingers explore each other body, mapping each other, claiming each other. Their colognes melting together, an intoxicating perfume that makes Oswald light-headed.

There is nothing else than each other in the world anymore.

Reaching for Riddler's belt, Oswald's hands suggest more an affirmation than a question. A satisfied grunt acts as the tacitly acknowledged nod. Pants slide off, blankets and mattress, way more comfortable than anything else Oswald's back was laying on tonight, replace the wall.

Breaking the pace of their kisses, Riddler smiles and slides a gentle hand on Oswald's cheek. Green eyes, always so expressive, display Oswald's feelings freely.

However, Oswald is not one to lose to fear. It goes against everything Oswald learned, but he cannot deny himself any longer. Ed's patience and care overcome his doubts with warmth.  
  
Oswald feels Ed's love.  
  
Ed's longing.

Oswald gives in. His fingers slide under the boxers of Riddler without hesitation. ''I... I want you to remove everything.''

A small nod, and Riddler removes underwears and socks, then he graciously provides Oswald his assistance, stripping him of the few pieces he was still wearing. Oswald welcomes the cold hair on his naked body with a chill.

Forgetting about the display of his own arousal, Oswald wonders about what he should do. Should he kiss Ed again? Or should he show him how much he worships Ed's body? And, anyway, how should he do that? Hands? Lips? Or, at this point, should he reaches for Ed's...?

Oswald's face is way too often flustered tonight.

Apparently figuring his hesitations, Riddler lays next to him, facing Oswald and kisses him again and again, until Oswald melts entirely in his embrace. Then only, softly, Riddler's fingers maps Oswald's sides and hips, tracing a path closer and closer to Oswald's dick, without rushing anything.

When Oswald tenses up, Riddler moves back a few centimeters away, waiting for him to be ready. ''I want to touch you, Oswald,'' Riddler says softly. ''Would you let me give you pleasure ?''

Oswald swallows hard. And nods.  
  
A gasp breaks the silence as Oswald discovers how strange but delightful it feels to be touched, down there, by someone else. Small, slow strokes help him to relax and to welcome this new pleasure.

Before tensing up again as moans flood his throat. No way, that's too embarrassing to let them spill.  
  
''I want to hear when you are enjoying what I'm doing to you, Oswald... but I will allow you to kiss me if you want to stay silent... or to try to stay silent,'' Riddler teases. As soon as the sentence dies, the strokes' rhythm gets quicker, more pressed.

Riddler obviously aims to hear Oswald's pleasure cries, but Oswald takes the suggestion, smothering a high-pitched moan on Riddler's mouth. However, Oswald is unable to restrain his moans when their mouths part, needing to breathe something else than each other, no matter how frustrating that is, their instinct refuses them to let them drown in each other.

It feels so good.

All of this feels overwhelmingly good. Overwhelming too good for Oswald's body, already shaking from pleasure, back arching, toes scrunching. Oswald cannot stop himself from squirming though, jerking his hips when Riddler moves down to lick a neglected nipple.

It feels so damn fucking good. Oh god.  
  
In spite of his lack of experience, Oswald knows what the tingling, growing warmth means. He is breathless, gasping, on the very edge.

No. Not yet.  
  
Quickly, Oswald pushes Riddler's hand away. His breath unsteady and his voice unsure, Oswald explains to his puzzled lover shyly: "I want to... enjoy... this... with you for a bit longer, Ed.''

A chuckle is the only answer Oswald receives.  
  
Riddler pushes Oswald on his back and sits. And bends. And takes Oswald's cock into his mouth.  
  
''A-aah,'' Oswald moans unwillingly. Pleasure and embarrassment mix together on his flushed face, and, unable to keep his voice down, he hides his face behind a folded arm.

The wet warmth of Ed's mouth feels so good. So damn good.

“You can close your eyes, but you will hear,” Riddler says, voice husky and teasing. ''But you will feel.”

Riddler's tongue draws circles over the sensitive skin. He chuckles softly against his skin when he hears a shaky breath coming from Oswald. He is getting close, but it was not enough yet.

He applies a steady, firm pressure with each pass of his tongue, enjoying Oswald's taste. He adds a little bit of lip here and there just to see the way it made Oswald react.

Oswald bites his lip to prevent another embarrassing moan from escaping his throat. He tries to hide the way Riddler's tongue makes his legs shake, but Riddler undoubtedly feels him trembling under the assault. His hand joins his tongue soon, wrapping around Oswald's cock in a firm embrace. Over a few seconds, the smothered moans get louder as he starts to thrust into Riddler's hands.

That confirms it. Oswald is enjoying himself. Time to play, now.  
  
“You like it, don't you, Oswald ?” Riddler asks, his lips slick with saliva and Oswald's precum, tongue toying with the head of Oswald's dick. His hair is a curly mess sticking to his sweaty forehead.

A sight to behold.  
  
''I want to say you lost as you didn't say ''I want''. Twice now.''

Browns eyes widen before Riddler laughs genuinely. He finds his way back to Oswald's welcoming mouth.

Breaking the kiss first, Riddler cast a seductive smile and leans down next to Oswald's ear, purring with confidence: ''As a prize, I am going to make you scream my name in ecstasy''.

Oswald shakes his head. ''You don't get to decide my prize, Ed.''He races his fingers up and down Riddler's sides, grabbing his ass without any hint of shame or shyness anymore.

''You have something in mind, Riddler states blanky, turning his head slightly, his eyes shining in contrast to his words.

Oswald nods, delighted to see how thrilled Ed seems to be, then he grips Riddler's hair, earning an appreciative growl. ''I want you,'' Oswald says slowly, letting every syllable sink in, ''to touch yourself and come for me. Show me.''

Show there is nothing to be embarrassed by.  
  
Riddle's nod surprises Oswald. How can he accept this kind of request just like that?

Riddler sits, his back against one of the bed pole. He oils his fingers with his precum, starting with slow strokes, biting his bottom lip. ''Oh'', Riddler hums shamelessly. ''Oswald... Watch and learn. You're next.''

Hand moving up and down his hardened dick, Riddler closes his eyes and tilt his head, sometimes barring his teeth, seemingly enjoying every second.

Oswald swallows hard before the scene, feeling his body heating up again. His cock is throbbing, and he can barely resist the temptation to touch himself. Instead, he explores Riddler inner thighs, fingers fondling the tender skin.

Even in the dim light, Oswald can see the way Riddler bucks his hips, the way his back arches, the way his tongue wets his lips.

Oswald is close enough to smell that damn faint cologne. The scent intoxicates Oswald, urging him to yield to previously unknown desires, or maybe instinct is to blame. Lips replace the fingers, tongue not far behind.

The sound of Riddler's heavy breathing and moans echoes through the room. ''Oh, fuck, Oswald, yes. Fuck, yes.'' Just the right pace, just the right pressure. And Oswald's mouth on his balls, his tongue dancing around his dick's root...

Riddler cries out, overwhelmed with pleasure. His hand barely shield Oswald, still licking, more coyly now, hints of a repressed smile at the corner of his lips.

Maybe... No, undoubtedly release is as embarrassing as Oswald apprehended.

But Oswald understands the appeal now. He remembers perfectly the delightful sounds Riddler made as he was unraveling for him, the way his body reacted at every move he made, every lick he gave.

Oh, Oswald needs to see, to hear, to feel that again.

''Oh, Oswald,'' Riddler purrs when he comes back to Earth, ''Now, come here. I want you to come for me nicely.'' He hesitates to add anything for a couple of seconds; then he asks, voice flat: ''Could you give me a tissue or two before ?''

Oswald raises his eyelashes. He bats them a few times, eyes looking up. Riddler sighs as he hears Oswald laughing in disbelief. ''It almost turned me on, Ed, but you had to ruin it.''

Riddler clicks his tongue and glares at Oswald defiantly. Without breaking eye contact, Riddler's hand catches abandoned socks from the ground.

And clean his sullied hand with the garment. Before throwing it back where it came from.  
  
Eyes wide open, Oswald states: ''That's disgusting, Ed.'' The surprise, too strong, refuses to let its place to repugnance, but he finds himself involuntarily chuckling.

Poker face breaking into his usual confident expression, Riddler teases: ''Roger. Next time, I'll let you lick it clean for me, Oswald.''

''That's... That's not what I meant,'' Oswald replies, flustered, not laughing anymore.

''Or maybe you have a better suggestion? Like coming here,'' Riddler marked his words with a tap on the mattress between his legs.

Oswald, lips pursed, complies. His legs bend over Riddler's as he sits in front of him, close enough for his swollen dick to brush against Riddler's.

''Good boy. Let me reward you.''

Oswald's eyes roll in pleasure because of the long, pressed, slow strokes. The tingling, overwhelming, warm heat in his lower abdomen again, getting stronger and stronger as Riddler finds just the right way to make him squirm and gasp in pleasure again.

Nothing but pleasure on his mind, Oswald jerks his hips in time with the expert strokes. Oh.

He is about to cum. Oswald's eyes are watering. It’s too much, he’s so fucking close, and... ''Come for me, Oswald.''  
  
Oswald bites hard into Ed's neck, desperately needing to smother the long cry as Riddler pushes him over the edge. Oblivious to the pain, Riddler, smiling proudly, floods the messy black hair with kisses.

''That's it, Oswald. I'm proud of you. You did great. You were magnificent,'' Riddler whispers, voice devoid of any smugness. Then, Riddler's forehead finds Oswald's and they hold each other, Oswald gradually calming down in Riddler's arms. ''I feel like I will never be able to move anymore,'' Oswald laughs. His body is too tired, his legs still shaking and his lungs, breathless. To wipe sweat from his forehead takes all the strength he has left.

In one swift move, Oswald falls on his back, enjoying how comfortable and effort-free lying down is.

''Did you dislike it ?''  
  
''Ah, hm,'' Oswald blushes. ''It was better... than I thought.'' ''I'll make you feel even better next time. Pinky promise.''  
  
Oswald turns his head to the side, lips together in a childish pout. ''You wait, Ed. I will be the one teasing you soon.''

Hungry black eyes meet Oswald's. ''I doubt you will be able to tease me at all, Oswald. You will not be able to resist me. You can't resist me even now.''

''I don't know about that for now, Ed, but if you want...'', Oswald stops, still blushing. He has to work on his shyness. They just had... together. Oswald whispers more than he says: ''I want to share my bed with you.''

Resting his head on Oswald's chest, Riddler blissfully sighs: ''I want to share it with you.'' Oswald smiles and closes his eyes, losing his fight with Morphée. ''Take a nap, Oswald, because I want to discover a lot of things with you tonight.''  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, if you find any mistake, lemme know. Verbs tenses and final -s are my enemies.
> 
> I also want to add that I do not think sex is shameful, sinful or whatever. I wanted to explore the kind of results a victorian sex education could give as it seemed very Getrud likely to me.
> 
> A big thank you to Heyesc, Kaiden, BBgulrot, and Amethyst. Your help is so precious to me. I wish you all the fluffiest dogs.
> 
> I love comments. I love kudos too, but comments give me life.


End file.
